


Human Errors

by merulanoir



Series: Nocturnal Magic [1]
Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling, Wiedźmin | The Witcher - All Media Types
Genre: Don't copy to another site, Fluff and Smut, M/M, Malfunctioning potions and misbehaving elevators, Mentions of nonhuman politics, Witcher characters in the HP world
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-04-23
Updated: 2019-04-23
Packaged: 2020-01-24 14:14:08
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 8,297
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18573142
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/merulanoir/pseuds/merulanoir
Summary: “So, what are you?” Geralt asked.Regis drew himself up and narrowed his eyes. In the low light, his expression would’ve passed for insulted, but Geralt saw his eyes were laughing.“That is a remarkably intrusive question, auror Rivia,” he said with feigned affront. “I am not required to divulge that information, seeing as I’m not being a nuisance.”





	Human Errors

**Author's Note:**

  * For [softestpunk](https://archiveofourown.org/users/softestpunk/gifts).



> SO ANYWAY. Some time ago I had a very long (and mostly capslock'd) conversation about Witcher/HP crossovers with [softestpunk](https://archiveofourown.org/users/softestpunk), and then this happened.
> 
> Beta by the always amazing [Dor](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Dordean/pseuds/Dordean). <3

“ What in Merlin’s name you mean they won’t go away?”

“ Are you deaf? Just that!”

“ The potion only lasts three hours—”

“ And it’s been four and a half now! Where the hell did you get this stuff?”

“ The manufacturer changed and—”

“ Of course. Of-fucking-course.”

“ Stay calm. We can get a healer from St. Mungo’s to take a look.”

Geralt ran fingers through his hair and slumped down on his seat, which protested the movement. He cast a warning glance at the offending piece of furniture, and once he deemed it safe, leaned back. The fight left him abruptly and in its wake followed the hollow feeling that was a direct result of completing two back-to-back calls in one day without getting a bite to eat.

Amrita kept glaring at him, as if to be ready to out-shout him should he get going again. Geralt folded his arms, realizing that he was, in fact, sulking.

“ Are you worried about how you look?” Amrita asked after a moment. “Because I think they look rather—”

“ If you finish that sentence, I’ll hex you,” Geralt grunted.

Amrita lifted her hand placatingly, her jeweled fingernails flashing in the light of the oil lamps. “I realize it’s unpleasant. Come back in the morning, I’ll get someone to come over.”

Geralt glanced at the clock on the wall. The hands were pointing to eleven and twelve, respectively.

“ The hell are you even doing here at this hour? Didn’t you agree to stop working late nights?”

His boss was suddenly very interested in her wand, polishing it against her sleeve. “Did I?” she asked.

Geralt rolled his eyes. “If I recall, the discussion you had with your wife was rather loud, even after you had dealt with the howler—”

“ Yes, yes, you’re very observant,” Amrita cut in. “Now, shoo. Scram. Go get some food and sleep.” She waved her hand and the door opened. Geralt leveled one more glare at his boss and scrambled to his feet. He snatched his long knife from the floor, slung it across his hip, and mock-saluted Amrita before escaping the room. The hex hit the door frame just as he ducked out.

Geralt pressed the elevator call with the tip of his wand, hoping against hope the machine would be in a good mood today. He had told everyone who bothered to listen what he thought about the security system, but no one high up was taking him seriously. The elevator was afraid of the top brass, and obeyed them, but anyone on floor three or lower down was left to its mercy.

The car rattled down, the metallic noise an eerie echo of the Ministry elevators. The door opened with a groan and a belch of smoke, and Geralt could swear he smelled cabbage.

“ Ground floor, please,” he said, trying to keep his voice mellow. Maybe today would be the day he finally got out on the first try.

“ Mmm. Don’t think so,” came the tinny reply, seemingly out of nowhere.

Geralt resisted the overwhelming urge to curse, drawing a breath. “Please. I’ve had a long day.”

“ I’ve had a long life, but you don’t see me complaining.”

“ You’ve literally been assembled for four weeks,” Geralt shot back, grimacing as the car made a offended clank.

“ You humans think you have it so bad,” the elevator snarled. “I need to keep this building safe. How do I know you’re not some impostor?”

Geralt felt his shoulders slump. “I’m on floor five. You brought me here half an hour ago, saying the exact same thing. And if I recall correctly, you’re equipped with the state of the art spellwork to reveal any and all disguises.”

“ What’s wrong with your eyes, whitey?”

Geralt finally looked into the mirror on the elevator wall. Instead of the light brown,  _ human _ eyes, he was met with golden yellow irises and cat-like pupils, narrowed into slits in the harsh glare of light that wasn’t originating from any apparent source. He sighed.

“ The cat potion supplier changed. The effects are not wearing off.”

“ Isn’t that all the rage, funky eyes?” the elevator tittered, and Geralt reminded himself it was illegal to cast curses while inside the station.

“ Maybe, if you’re fifteen,” he muttered instead, looking away from the mirror. His stomach made an unattractive rumble.

“ Being human seems like such a hassle,” the elevator said conversationally as it suddenly surged upwards. Geralt gripped his wand and said a silent prayer to whoever might bother to listen that the next stop would be the foyer, and not some liminal hell space.

“ I mean, all those realities of having a physical body? Entirely overrated, if you ask me,” the elevator went on. It screeched to a halt without a warning, and Geralt only narrowly avoided faceplanting into the foyer floor as the door opened and the car bucked him out. Once he was safely out of the elevator and sure his weapons were still on his person, he gave the machine a death glare and escaped through the doors.

The cool night air felt wonderful against his skin. His eyes stopped aching as he stepped away from the bright lights, reminding Geralt that he needed to come back here the first thing in the morning. There was no way he would walk around with cat eyes for any longer than was absolutely necessary.

Geralt was suddenly extremely glad Ciri wasn’t coming back from Ireland until Friday. She would piss herself laughing if she saw him like this. How the elevator inside the auror station knew the latest trends among the wizarding youth, Geralt didn’t know.

Geralt exhaled, cast a quick glance around to ascertain he was alone, and apparated. Once the void released him, he blinked his eyes open and saw a familiar, narrow street, lit by a few old-fashioned lamps. He started towards a store, allowing the well-known surroundings soothe his nerves.

Hidaway was one of the newer town areas that were located amidst muggle districts, but which were reserved for the magical population. After the war, streets like this had sprung up here and there, and Geralt had moved to Hidaway with Ciri when she had been ten. It was a nice little nook, just one block of faux-old houses and stores, among them a late-night diner.

He made it all the way into the shop before the smell of herbs and spices hit him, causing him to stop in his tracks. The moonlight cafeteria had vanished, and instead Geralt was staring at what looked a cross between an apothecary and a healer’s reception, complete with a human skeleton wearing a shabby fedora, and shelves full of jars and ointments. Geralt blinked, trying to wrap his head around what he saw, and then someone peeked behind a counter.

A thin, middle-aged man rose to his feet and stared back at him. He had black eyes and a hooked nose, and he looked more surprised than scared. Geralt saw he was wearing muggle clothes: ordinary black slacks, a dress shirt, and a vest over it. He hadn’t seen those kinds of clothes in years, but despite them the shop was clearly magical.

“ Can I help you?”

Geralt looked around, once more ascertaining he was not, in fact, hallucinating.

“ I was looking for the diner?” he tried, weakly.

The man smiled apologetically. “I’m afraid the diner was forced to close down. Something to do with bundimuns in the kitchen.” He cocked his head. “That was three weeks ago. I take it you’re not local?”

“ I live across the street,” Geralt said, feeling his cheeks coloring. He finally looked away. “I guess I’m just not very observant.”

The man nodded. His eyes were curious and kind. “You’re an auror, aren’t you?” he asked, indicating the official robes Geralt was wearing. “I imagine your line of work leaves much to be desired when it comes to work hours.”

Geralt nodded. He managed a smile. “Yeah. I usually came here when I was too lazy to cook for myself. Guess those easy days are over.”

“ I’m afraid so.” The man leaned on the counter and gestured around the shop. “I’m an alchemist and healer by trade, and while I’m sure you’d find many useful things from my shelves, I’m sorry to state dinner isn’t one of them.”

Geralt chuckled. “Hardly your fault. Serves me right for not stocking my fridge.”

“ You believe in such inventions?”

“ Hell yes,” Geralt said. “I’m muggle-born, and there’s no way I’m going to start messing around with kitchen spells when I know modern technology does the job nicely.”

The man nodded, still smiling. “I see. It’s quite unusual for a wizard not to eschew muggle technology, their parentage notwithstanding.”

Geralt shrugged. “You’re not the first one to tell me that. A friend of mine once set the thing on fire when he started poking around the back with his wand.”

The man huffed a laugh. The he extended his hand over the counter.

“ My full name would bore you to tears, but I’m called Emiel Regis, Regis to most people. Nice to meet you.”

“ Geralt Rivia.” Geralt shook his hand, smiling. Regis’ hand was cool and smaller than his own, lacking calluses and scars. Geralt estimated he must be almost three inches shorter than him. His hair was curly, combed back and revealing his widow’s peak. He was, quite simply, charming.

Regis frowned and apparently forgot to release Geralt’s hand as he peered into his eyes. Geralt was momentarily confused, until he remembered. This time he definitely blushed, but Regis just looked at him for a few seconds.

“ Your eyes—” Regis begun, and then he realized he was still holding on to Geralt’s right hand. He released it with an embarrassed chuckle before continuing: “Is it a spell?”

Geralt rubbed his neck. “Cat potion. An auror tool; we use it to see in the dark when we can’t use  _ lumos  _ for whatever reason _. _ ”

Regis nodded, understanding bringing a wider smile on his lips. “Ah, I see. It looks gorgeous.”

Before Geralt’s mind could process the compliment and subsequently force him to make a fool of himself, Regis crossed around the counter and stopped in front of him, peering deeper into his eyes. “If I may ask, is it a long-term effect?”

Geralt tried to ignore how hot his neck was feeling all of a sudden. He blinked rapidly. “Um. It’s not supposed to be,” he managed. 

Regis’ eyes were completely black, and in the warm glow of the lamp his hair was a mix of black and steely grays. His mouth quirked up in an expression Geralt could only call delighted.

“ Ah,” Regis said. He didn’t back off, and Geralt couldn’t look away from him. “You’re feeling embarrassed, because the effect is not going away.”

Geralt nodded. Regis’ eyes flickered over his face and then he finally stepped back, leaning against the counter and looking, if possible, even more curious. “I would offer my help, but as you’re an auror, I’m guessing you’re not in the position to divulge the potion’s ingredients to me?”

“ Afraid not,” Geralt nodded, stuffing his hands into his pockets. “To be honest, we get the potions from an outside supplier nowadays.”

“ Oh, surely not?” Regis asked, pursing his lips. “I’ve heard nothing but miserable things about the Ministry’s desire to outsource procurement of magical supplies.”

“ Tell me about it. We were forbidden from brewing our own potions and oils this year.” Geralt rolled his eyes, and he felt marginally better when he could gripe to an outsider. He really did have too few friends outside the office. 

At the same time he realized the lights in Regis’ shop didn’t hurt his eyes. He glanced around, and noticed there were only a few oil lamps burning with a low flame. Geralt had no trouble seeing around, not with the freaky eyes, but a normal human would struggle in such dim lighting.

Geralt looked back at Regis, whose face had turned curious and deliberate, having clearly followed his gaze wandering from lamp to lamp. The man met Geralt’s eyes without flinching, but his earlier easy manner had sharpened into something else.

After a short silence, Geralt rubbed his eyes.

“ You’re not human.”

Regis crossed his arms and cocked his head. He didn’t smile, but his eyes looked playful.

“ That is true.”

“ And I’m probably the slowest auror in the whole Ministry,”Geralt muttered to himself.

“ Your eyes, which are stunning, I might repeat, placed you at a disadvantage,” Regis said almost gently. “That, and you seem tired. Don’t beat yourself up about it.”

“ So, what are you?” Geralt asked.

Regis drew himself up and narrowed his eyes. In the low light, his expression would’ve passed for insulted, but Geralt saw his eyes were laughing.

“ That is a remarkably intrusive question, auror Rivia,” he said with feigned affront. “I am not required to divulge that information, seeing as I’m not being a nuisance.”

Geralt bit his lip, but his chuckle tore free a second later. Regis flashed him a quick smile.

“ Fair enough. Sorry. My head feels like it’s full of oatmeal,” Geralt sighed, still smiling. He was starting to like Regis.

“ I recommend you go get some well-earned sleep,” Regis said and stepped closer. Geralt didn’t have time to react when the man leaned closer and once more peered into his eyes from much too close. “You’re welcome to visit me again, although I suspect this is the last time I will see you with these eyes.”

Geralt’s throat felt very dry, all of a sudden. His brain got stuck on a loop that inanely pointed out that Regis was standing very close, and how he smelled of cardamom and something sharp Geralt couldn’t recognize in his stupor. When he inhaled, his chest brushed against Regis’, but before he could pull his brain back together, the man stepped back and extended his hand.

“ It was a pleasure,” he said in a low voice.

Geralt shook the hand and he might’ve said something, but only when he was outside did he realize Regis had pressed a small card into his hand. 

He shook his head to clear it, and made the short walk to his own front door. He was fiercely glad his house only had good old-fashioned stairs, and once he was safely inside he slumped down onto his sofa. A wave of his wand revealed some almost stale bread and cheese inside his fridge, which he ate without much enthusiasm.

The temptation to fall asleep was immense, but Geralt fought it and dragged himself into shower and then into his bed. As he set his wand onto the nightstand, the small card on top of his discarded robes caught his eye. Geralt picked it up, amused and confused.

_ Mandrake & Marigold,  _ it said in slanting black writing.  _ Herbs, medicines, cures. Open when convenient. _

Geralt huffed a laugh and rolled over, sleep taking him at once.

***

His eyes were still stuck yellow and cat-like the next morning. The day was sunny, and Geralt resigned himself to wearing sunglasses indoors. He showered, and when he left his house in search of breakfast, he saw the new shop did, in fact, exist. There was no movement behind the glass, and Geralt smiled to himself before he apparated.

The second he made it to the floor of his department, he could hear agitated voices, just about to reach shouting-levels. He paused, ignoring the giggling elevator, and then recognized the louder voice.

Lambert.

It was going to be a long day.

***

The sun was just starting to set when Geralt apparated next to his house, his bag swinging as he tried to clear his head. The evening sunlight stabbed his eyes, and with a grumble he tugged the sunglasses down from his forehead. 

Damn idiot healer, and damn Amrita for not making it clear to whoever was responsible for the cat potions that they were not to be distributed until the matter had been solved. And too bad it had been Eskel who got stuck with cat eyes. Geralt rubbed his forehead, deciding that he wasn’t feeling the least bit sorry about Lambert getting a faulty potion, too.

He was just about to open the front door when he heard raised voices. For a second he was uncertain where they were coming from, but then he spotted movement in the apothecary. Someone was moving inside, gesticulating wildly.

The familiar herb and poultice smell hit Geralt’s nose when he opened the door. The person shouting, a middle-aged witch in ratty robes, didn’t pay him any mind. Geralt saw Regis behind the counter, looking equal parts bored and annoyed as he listened to the screaming.

Geralt pushed the sunglasses up and Regis’ eyes moved to him. A mischievous smile tugged at his lips when he turned back to the shouting witch.

“ Would you like to take the matter up with the appropriate authorities, ma’am?” he asked in a silky voice.

“ Yes!” the witch shrieked. “I bloody well would!”

Regis looked pointedly at Geralt, and the witch whirled around. Geralt saw her small, watery eyes widen in alarm when she understood the big, scarred man with cat eyes was indeed real and wearing auror robes.

“ How can I help you?” Geralt asked. He glared at Regis, and the man winked at him.

The witch had lost the ability to speak. She opened and closed her mouth a few times, and seemed to deflate. After a tense, dragging silence she rushed out of the shop without a backwards glance. The tinkle of the bell accompanied her leaving, and another silence followed.

Geralt turned to look at Regis, who waved a hand. The lights of the shop dimmed instantly, and Geralt relaxed.

“ I thank you,” Regis said, leaning on the counter and looking thoroughly amused. “Your timing was impeccable.”

“ What was that about?”

Regis grinned, and Geralt caught a glimpse of teeth that looked a bit too sharp to belong to a human. “She claimed this shop was left for her in a will. I, naturally, disagreed.”

“ And what’s the truth?” Geralt asked, rubbing his face. He glanced around the shop and startled. A man with black hair and cool, blue eyes was standing near the staircase, looking at him. He had been so quiet and unmoving Geralt had missed him completely.

A fleeting worry whether he was slowly becoming senile crossed Geralt’s head as he tried to mask the flinch.

Regis smiled at the man before turning his black eyes back towards Geralt. “Oh, I wouldn’t  _ dream _ of doing anything illegal. Especially since I’m trying to befriend a member of the law enforcement.”

The black-haired man scoffed as he stepped closer. He kept staring at Geralt under his brows, and Geralt got an unmistakable feeling that he was extremely unwelcome.

“ Regis, you know what I think about—” the man begun, but Regis cut him off by lifting his hand.

“ We are not discussing this. Geralt, meet Dettlaff, a dear friend of mine.”

Geralt extended his hand, because he was not a boor, despite his instincts going haywire. The man, Dettlaff, glared at him for a while before shaking it. His grip was strong, and Geralt could see his nails were very sharp.

_ Whatever Regis is, I’m willing to bet a few hundred galleons Dettlaff is too,  _ Geralt thought. It probably should have felt unsafe, standing in a dim shop with two nonhumans, but Regis kept looking at them and his eyes were once more doing the thing when they seemed to laugh. After a short pause, he reached behind the counter and picked out a flask. He tossed it to Dettlaff, who caught it with apparent ease.

“ Next week?” he asked, and Dettlaff nodded curtly before turning to leave. He paused at the door.

“ Regis, be careful.” With that, the bell tinkled again, and Geralt was left alone with the alchemist. He spent a few seconds gathering his thoughts, and then Regis was standing next to him.

“ Tea?” he asked, smiling and nudging Geralt’s elbow.

“ Sure, why not,” Geralt sighed, and followed Regis into the backroom.

It was cramped but neat, cupboards lining the walls and a small muggle-made hotplate taking up most of the countertop next to a tiny sink. Regis nodded his head towards the sturdier looking of the two chairs next to a table, and Geralt sat down. This room, too, was dimly illuminated, and he once more questioned himself about the sense of hanging out with someone who was so obviously nonhuman.

Then he frowned. This kind of behavior was the exact reason keeping nonhumans at the edges of society. Besides, he had been vocal about objecting the legislative proposal that would require all nonhumans to register at the ministry, because it rankled against his ethics on a very fundamental level. To top that, Regis had been perfectly civil with him, and Geralt was still getting caught up in his own prejudice.

Regis put a small teapot on the burner and flicked a switch. Then he turned around and caught Geralt staring at him.

“So,” he said with a smile. “I was mistaken.”

“About?” Geralt asked, cocking an eyebrow. 

“Two things,” Regis told him. He waved a hand towards Geralt’s face. “I did get to see your fascinating eyes again, but as much as that delights me, I’m suspecting you’re less happy about that.”

Geralt sighed, tugging at his ponytail and settling more comfortably into his chair.

“The manufacturer denies any possibility of a mistake at their end. They claim I either overdosed, or am allergic to some part of the potion.” He realized his shoulders were creeping up, and forced himself to relax. Regis’ face turned sympathetic.

“And? Does either seem likely?” he prompted. The kettle started to make noise behind his back, but he ignored it in favor of watching Geralt closely.

“Well, I know I didn’t overdose,” Geralt shrugged. “And I’ve been taking the potion for years with no trouble, so developing an allergy seems unlikely.” He met Regis’ eyes, and tried to summon a smile.

“Looks like I’m stuck wearing sunglasses for a while, while the people at St. Mungo’s figure out how to counter the effect.”

Regis frowned. He flicked the hotplate off, but instead of pouring water into the waiting cups, he stepped closer. Geralt looked up at him, and once again his neck started to feel hot.

“They didn’t teach you how to control your pupil dilation?” Regis asked, looking appalled. “That should be the first thing to focus on when using vision-altering potions.”

Geralt shrugged again. “We usually use cat potions when we’re already in a dark place and need our hands free.”

Regis pursed his lips in disapproval. His expression turned thoughtful. “As you’ve probably surmised by now, I have little trouble seeing in the dark. I can show you how to do it.”

“You can?” Geralt asked. He was distracted by the earthy scent, and tried to shove his reaction to Regis standing over him to the back of his head.

Regis smiled. “Of course.” He reached out a hand, letting it hover over Geralt’s cheekbone. “May I? It’s easier this way.”

Geralt nodded, not knowing what to expect. Once again an instinct tried to pipe up a warning, but he squashed it without mercy. Nothing about Regis registered as a danger.

Regis cupped his face and leaned a touch closer. For a while nothing happened, and then Geralt felt a very faint tingle of magic. It trickled into him from Regis’ fingers, and made its way into his eyes. 

His eyes widened as he felt his pupils first dilate, letting in more light, and then contract into slits, making the room seem much darker. Regis kept watching him, their faces only inches apart, a faint frown on his face. Geralt felt his eyes adjust a few times, and then the man smiled again. Even this close, Geralt couldn’t pick out Regis’ pupils from the black of his irises.

“That should do it. Try doing it yourself.”

“What did you do?” Geralt asked, blinking. He felt the magic recede, leaving his eyes feeling normal again.

Regis chuckled. “I sent a very faint impulse into your optic nerve, giving it a false prompt of sorts. It should be enough for you to be able to do it at will. Try contracting your pupils again.”

Geralt had no clue what he was supposed to do, but after a while of focusing on his eyes, the room grew dim again. He let out a surprised laugh.

“It worked.”

Regis’ smile grew wider. “You’re very well in touch with yourself. Most likely you would have figured out how to do this on your own before long.”

“You just saved me from several headaches,” Geralt said with a grin. Suddenly he realized Regis’ hand was still resting gently against his cheek, and that they were very close.

A silence fell, during which Geralt tried to come up with something, but could only focus on the calm, cool touch, and how Regis seemed to know exactly where his thoughts had run off to. The man held the contact for a while longer, and then pulled back. Geralt couldn’t tell whether he was relieved or disappointed.

Regis finally poured water over the tea leaves, and put both mugs onto the rickety table. He crossed his feet and smiled at Geralt, who could feel his neck grow hot again.

Damn it. He was over forty, and all of a sudden acting like a teenager with an embarrassing crush.

“What was the second thing you were wrong about?” Geralt asked, clearing his throat. He didn’t know what to do with his hands.

“Ah.” Regis finally looked away, his smile faltering. He spent a moment looking at the steaming mug, and then looked up with a sigh.

“I understand if you’re bothered by me being… Well, not human,” he said, his good mood giving way to something that Geralt wanted to call hesitancy. As soon as it registered, he felt a stab of guilt.

“If I’ve said or done something—” Geralt begun, feeling how shame drew a blush to his cheeks, but Regis shook his head with another gentle smile.

“No, quite the contrary, in fact.” His eyes crinkled as he smiled. “You’ve been remarkably blasé about this, even as it became quite obvious.”

Geralt wanted to look away, but couldn’t. Regis’ eyes were open and honest, and Geralt found himself wanting to get to know him.

“Well, you’re not being a nuisance, as you put it,” he offered with a crooked smile, and drew a laugh from Regis. 

“Well, yes, but the general attitude is somewhat stilted at the moment,” Regis chuckled, and Geralt could tell this had really been bothering him.

“I think that bill they’re trying to push through is a pile of dragon dung,” Geralt grumbled.

“That is a remarkable insult towards all dragons,” Regis put in with a wink, and Geralt laughed. He took a sip of the tea, tasting chamomile and cardamon.

“Well, yeah. But I don’t think it’ll pass. Folk are becoming used to nonhumans slowly integrating.”

“Some are, yes,” Regis said. His eyes turned serious again. “But the vocal bigots are demanding that anyone with more than a quarter of nonhuman blood in their veins must register at the Ministry of Magic. Ridiculous.”

“And such a waste of time,” Geralt said with a shake of his head. “We have better things to do than go hunt down every half-veela in Britain.”

Regis’ finger toyed with the handle of his mug. “I suspect it’s not half-veelas they’re so concerned about.” His tone was carefully neutral, but it didn’t fool Geralt.

Without thinking, he let his foot nudge Regis’. It came to rest against his, their shins pressed together, but Geralt refused to examine his intentions just then.

“Well, seeing as you’re a useful member of the society, I have no choice but to vouch for your trustworthiness,” he said with a grin. It was a joke, but Geralt was surprised to feel how much he actually meant it. He had known Regis for a day, but something told him that he’d come to regret it if he let the man slip away.

Regis looked incredulous for half a second and then started to laugh in earnest, hand rising to cover his mouth. Geralt continued smiling, and his chest felt lighter when the worry seemed to lift from Regis’ eyes.

Finally Regis leaned back, wiping his eyes. He didn’t move his leg away, and Geralt let his own rest where it was, tangled with Regis’.

“You’re something else,” Regis said with a thread of laughter clinging to his voice. “I was initially curious about you because you’re an auror, but it seems I made a third mistake.”

“Oh?” Geralt asked. Worry brushed him, making him wonder if Regis hadn’t meant to get to know him, but it vanished when Regis leaned his head in his hand, regarding him with laughing eyes. There was a new ease about him.

“Very much so. Apart from how gorgeous you are, I’m forced to admit you seem very intriguing.”

Geralt blinked rapidly, trying to process the compliment, trying to decide whether Regis was flirting with him, or just referring to his weirdass cat eyes again, but a dull ringing inside his head made thinking very hard.

Regis’ eyes flicked over his face, and then he chuckled, looking thoroughly amused. “It also seems that making you flustered is easier than one might expect,”  he added thoughtfully, a gentle note of teasing in his voice making it lilt up.

Geralt finally pulled his misbehaving brain together. “Aw, come on,” he grumbled, trying to hide his embarrassed grin. “You’re saying that only because I have weird eyes.”

Regis winked at him again, not saying anything, and Geralt relaxed. His cheeks still felt hot, but there was nothing awkward about this; bantering and being with Regis was easy in a way few things had ever been. Geralt wasn’t shy, but he was picky with the people he chose to hang out with. Regis was already becoming an outlier by managing to step around all his walls with no effort.

They finished their tea and chatted about everyday things. Geralt didn’t feel like leaving, but his fridge was still empty, and he didn’t fancy living on stale bread for the second night in a row. When he finally peeled himself off the chair and headed for the door, Regis trailed after him.

“Thanks for the tea,” Geralt said at the door. He wanted to say something more, to assure Regis he’d be back if the man wished that, but could come up with nothing that didn’t sound vaguely creepy. He stalled, rubbing his neck.

Regis cocked his head, and then he was suddenly standing very close. Geralt felt cool fingers brushing against his collarbones through the robes, and his brain ground to a halt.

“I was wondering,” Regis said in a low voice, “if you’d like to have dinner on Saturday?” His eyes seemed bottomless, and Geralt forgot to blink. Without any prompting, his pupils dilated, and the evening gloom lit up.

“Yes,” he got out. His hands hovered awkwardly, and then very slowly landed on Regis’ shoulders. He was wearing a shirt made from some smooth, soft fabric. “I’d like— Yes, sure,” he continued, not certain he was making any sense.

Regis smiled again, fingers brushing small circles where they lay against Geralt’s chest. It was incredibly distracting.

“I’ll pick you up at seven,” Regis murmured. Geralt swallowed thickly, and before his brain processed what was happening, Regis leaned closer and soft, cool lips brushed his cheek.

Geralt opened his mouth, but nothing came out. Regis stepped back ( _ much too far away _ , an inane voice pointed out inside Geralt’s head,) and opened the door for him.

Geralt made it through the doorway and then turned around. He met Regis’ eyes and opened his mouth, but his voice was still out of office, it seemed.

Regis smiled. He had several smiles, Geralt noted, and this one was softer than any he had seen thus far. His own lips twitched up.

“I’ll see you on Saturday,” Regis said. He didn’t look like he was in any hurry to close the door, and Geralt resisted the temptation to simply go back inside.

“Don’t stand me up,” he finally said with a grin, and Regis shook his head, eyes lighting up.

“I wouldn’t dream of it.”

***

“You have  _ a date _ .”

“Shut up,” Geralt muttered. He swept the razor down his cheek once more, and came to the conclusion his skin was as neat as it was going to get. He bent down to wash the cream off, and when he straightened up, Ciri had migrated to sit at the edge of the tub. She was grinning so wide Geralt worried she might pull a muscle.

“So, who is the lucky person?” she asked, nudging his ankle with her feet. “Someone from the office? Oh! Don’t tell me, I’ll guess.” Her expression turned thoughtful, and Geralt rolled his eyes.

He exited the bathroom and tried to shut the door before his brat of a daughter made it out, but Ciri wrestled her way into the living room where she collapsed onto the sofa.

“So, seeing as your dating history mostly consists of women who could snap your neck, I’m inclined to believe this one is of that ilk, too,” she yelled after him as Geralt trudged to his bedroom and opened his wardrobe. He briefly considered hexing her, but came to the conclusion that it would only backfire, and he’d end up going out with green eyebrows to compliment the cat eyes. Not for the first time, he regretted nudging Ciri into the direction of the Gringotts curse-breakers when she’d agonized over career choices.

“You haven’t told me of any new people at the station lately, so it’s someone you met this week,” Ciri continued cheerfully. “I was gone for five days, and you manage to find someone impressive enough to talk you into a date. This tells me it’s someone who’s either very persuasive or ravishing, possibly both.”

Geralt didn’t deign to answer. He briefly considered wearing robes, but then decided against it; Regis hadn’t mentioned where they were going, but seeing as he wore muggle clothes, there was a real possibility they wouldn’t head for the Diagon Alley.

“And since you so rudely refuse to tell me how this date is going to happen, I’m forced to conclude there’s something unusual about the person who’s taking you out,” Ciri went on. Geralt rolled his eyes again.

There had been no more headaches after Regis had taught him how to control the pupil dilation. He still needed sunglasses if it was sunny, but otherwise he managed just fine.

Just when Geralt finished pulling on one of his neater muggle shirts, Ciri’s patience apparently ran out. She wrenched the bedroom door open and pointed an accusatory finger at him.

“You’re hiding something,” she grumbled, crossing her arms. “There’s something I’m missing.”

“In other news today, water is wet,” Geralt said with a grin. He started to battle his hair into a ponytail, and Ciri gave a sigh that told anyone within two blocks how she suffered. She snatched the hairbrush out of his hands and pointed to a chair.

Geralt sat down with a fond chuckle, and Ciri begun to brush out tangles. Seeing as she only wore her own hair in messy buns, Geralt wasn’t clear on where exactly she’d picked up her hair styling skills. Geralt had never seen Ciri’s girlfriend, Cerys, in anything but a braid.

“Tell meee,” Ciri whined as she pulled his hair into a neat ponytail. She wrapped her arms around his neck and squeezed gently. “Are you embarrassed? No need. I’d never judge you. Much. You know me.”

Geralt heaved a sigh. A glance at the clock told him he had only five minutes to spare. He rose from the chair, and Ciri hung on, hanging from his back like a boneless monkey as he made his way to the foyer.

“Tell me, please. Pretty please.”

“In your dreams.”

“I’ll hex you.”

“Nothing new there.”

“If you tell me I’ll turn your eyes back to normal,” Ciri said as she finally let him go. Geralt looked up. 

As expected, Ciri had almost broken a rib laughing when she’d returned. She’d come to visit him yesterday, right after returning from her work trip to Ireland, and Geralt hadn’t managed to get a word in before she’d been digging out a camera and snapping a picture of him.

At least the Geralt in the photo was refusing to turn around.

“If the healers couldn’t do it, I doubt you could,” Geralt finally said and went back to pulling on shoes.

Ciri scoffed. “I’m a curse-breaker, not some bloody healer. I know what’s wrong with your eyes.”

“I call bullshit,” Geralt muttered as he tied his shoelaces. He wanted to get out before Regis came up the stairs and Ciri would attack him, too.

“One of the ingredients in the cat potion needs to be spelled. It’s rather exact work, requires finesse,” Ciri said sweetly, examining her nails. “It controls the duration of the potion.”

Geralt froze, hand on the door handle. For a second he seriously considered asking Ciri to explain, but then he remembered Regis looking at him, smiling with bright eyes, and he snorted.

“See you tomorrow, brat.”

“Are you planning on spending the night?” Ciri yelped. Geralt quickly closed the door and pointed his wand at the lock. A quick spell he’d picked up, and the lock clicked.  _ Alohomora  _ wouldn’t open it, and Ciri would most likely need at least ten minutes to figure out the exact way to unlock the door so she’d be able to leave and go to her own flat.

“I’ll burn your door down!” a muffled voice yelled to him, and Geralt pocketed his wand with a laugh. Footsteps in the stairway made him turn around, and Regis met his eyes with raised brows.

“Trouble?” he asked, clearly torn between concern and amusement.

“Just my delight of a daughter,” Geralt said as Ciri banged a fist against the doorframe.

“Oh,” Regis said, looking towards the door. “She sounds less than delighted, if I may be honest with you.”

“She’ll come around,” Geralt said. “Shall we?”

“I can hear you! Who is he?” Ciri shouted, but before Regis could begin to converse with his closed door, Geralt took him by the arm and walked them both down the stairs. They came to a stop outside, and Geralt tried to release Regis, only to have the man winding their fingers together with an amused smile.

Geralt looked down at their joined hands, and something warm bloomed inside his chest. When he met Regis’ eyes, they were once again soft and warm.

“This way,” Regis said quietly, tugging him along. Geralt followed, and when Regis stopped to apparate, he allowed himself to be pulled closer.

Once the darkness passed, Geralt saw they had arrived next to a tiny restaurant sitting atop a hill. The deck overlooked a park and a lake, over which the sun was just starting to set. He had half a mind to ask where they were, but then decided against it. Not like it mattered.

They were seated into a private nook at the deck, and Geralt took in the view. When he turned towards Regis, he mirrored the relaxed smile.

He’d been uncertain, perhaps stupidly, if this was meant to be a date. Those doubts were evaporating now, because there was nothing platonic in the way Regis was looking at him. It was still gentle, but his eyes were intense.

Geralt gathered his courage and took Regis hand again, entwining their fingers on the table. Regis looked surprised for a second, and then he squeezed Geralt’s hand.

“I came across this place some time ago, and it occurred to me it’s perfect for occasions such as this,” Regis explained, holding Geralt’s gaze. His thumb was moving in small circles, and Geralt tried to focus on his words and not on how the minute contact felt indecently good.

“Come here often, then?” he teased, not knowing what to expect.

Regis chuckled, looking towards the setting sun. “This is the first time, truth be told.”

Geralt stared at him, trying to wrap his head around it all. Regis’ honesty was setting off a tingling feeling that was half-anticipation, and half something he didn’t dare name yet.

Instead of blurting out something stupid, Geralt lifted Regis’ hand up and, before he got a chance to think about it too much, pressed a kiss to it.

Regis’ eyes widened as he turned to look at Geralt. Then a smile broke out, once more softer than before, driving away all teasing until just genuine happiness remained. Geralt kept holding the hand, heart thudding loudly in his ears.

“You’re full of surprises,” Regis murmured, looking delighted, and then they were distracted by a waiter.

Geralt couldn’t remember what they ate, if he was completely honest. He was too caught up with the discussion and everything that passed unsaid. Regis’ eyes seemed to be pulling him in, and he felt giddy heat crawling under his skin. He couldn’t remember the last time he’d felt this good with another person, just toying around the possibilities.

When they finally stepped out, moon was hanging on the sky, and streetlights were starting to cast hazy yellow rays into the darkening evening. It was still warm, and when Regis stepped closer, Geralt was expecting him. His arms sneaked around the slim waist, and Regis exhaled as they pressed together.

His breath tickled Geralt’s face. Geralt searched his eyes, trying to ascertain he wasn’t reading too much into this, but Regis beat him to it. Cool fingers cupped his cheeks, and then lips were brushing his, feather-light and questioning.

Geralt drew in a breath and tugged Regis closer, deepening the kiss. It was too easy to bury a hand into his dark hair and mess it up, so effortless to press closer until his heart was hammering away and Regis was licking his bottom lip, asking for permission. Geralt parted his lips without second thought, and felt Regis smile into the kiss. His fingers swept up and gently scratched at the shaved part of Geralt’s head, eliciting a shiver.

“I would like to suggest we head somewhere more...private,” Regis whispered against his lips when they at long last parted for breath. “If that’s not horribly presumptuous of me.”

“Nah,” Geralt grinned, pressing another kiss to the corner of Regis’ mouth. “I was about to suggest my place.”

“Not afraid we’ll be disturbed?” Regis laughed, sweeping his hands down and squeezing Geralt closer.

“That spell could hold Ciri for like ten minutes,” Geralt snorted. “She’ll be long gone by now.”

“Let us hope so,” Regis said. He tucked his nose under Geralt’s ear, inhaling, and when the void let them go, he pressed an open-mouthed kiss to the skin there. Geralt shivered.

When he opened his eyes, he saw they were standing right outside his flat. The door was unharmed and normally locked, so he simply nudged it open with his foot and pulled Regis inside with him. The man laughed against his lips, but the sound turned into a moan as Geralt pressed him against the closed door and started to kiss his neck.

At some point his fingers had wandered under Regis’ shirt, and Geralt felt Regis press closer, both of them slowly rocking together. Geralt dived in for another, more urgent kiss just as Regis worked his shirt open and pushed it off, and he was almost done with the other man’s buttons when something sharp caught his lip and he flinched.

“Shit,” Regis swore softly, going stiff. Geralt pulled back a bit, and his eyes adjusted to the dark. Regis was looking at him with wide eyes, and as Geralt poked at his lip with his tongue, he tasted blood.

“I’m so sorry,” Regis whispered. He stayed very still, and Geralt realized with a jolt that Regis was scared.

Not of him, he thought, but of rejection. Regis was wary because he thought Geralt would feel disgusted or alarmed.

Geralt let his posture thaw, and gently pressed his thumb to Regis’ lips. Regis stared at him, and when Geralt pushed his lip up, revealing the fangs, he sighed and closed his eyes.

He didn’t see Geralt leaning in for another kiss before their lips met, and Geralt felt Regis jolt back into the reality. He was unresponsive for a second, and then kissed back with a low groan, hands gripping Geralt’s hips hard. When Geralt pulled back, his eyes were questioning and careful.

“Not going anywhere,” Geralt murmured. “Not like I was terribly shocked.”

“I’m sorry, that was an accident,” Regis answered, sounding breathless. He arched into Geralt’s touch. “I would never bite you.”

“I know,” Geralt chuckled. His fingers lingered at the few buttons he hadn’t worked open yet, waiting for permission. Regis hesitated for a moment and then swooped in, nuzzling his neck and letting out a relieved laughter.

“Surprising,” he muttered, sucking on the spot under Geralt’s ear. He pressed his tongue to the same place, licking down, and Geralt whined. He tugged the shirt off, and Regis let the garment fall, hands roaming up and down Geralt’s back. Geralt pressed him back against the door, and as their hips collided, Regis made a low growl at the back of his throat. The sound sent Geralt’s blood rushing.

Geralt wasn’t entirely certain when he lost his pants, but by then Regis was kicking his own off and backing him into the bedroom, neither of them struggling to see in the dark. Geralt didn’t know what to expect, he had been going into the evening practically blind, but wasn’t the least bit disappointed to find Regis pinning him down with little effort and dragging his hips over his.

Regis kept smiling so wide his fangs showed, and the sight sent a confusing mixture of fondness and lust through Geralt. Then all sensible thought backed off as Regis reached a hand down and wrapped it around them both, smearing precum as he stroked down once. Geralt let out an embarrassingly loud moan at the touch, and Regis groaned low.

“Come on, I want you,” Geralt managed, dragging Regis into another messy kiss just as he started to lazily move his hand. Geralt rocked his hips, and was rewarded with another breathy smile against his lips.

“You feel amazing,” Regis whispered. His movements were deliberately controlled, and Geralt found himself craving exactly this; he wanted to hold on to Regis as he came, and then hold him after, and repeat the whole process.

Instead of blurting out anything too sappy, he grinned and nipped at Regis’ bottom lip, drawing a moan from him. Regis’ fingers tightened, and he thrust against Geralt. Geralt swept his hands down, holding on to Regis by his ass, enjoying the shifting muscles under his palms. His hips were losing their rhythm, but Regis hung onto it, making Geralt’s breath come in increasingly desperate huffs.

“Regis, please,” Geralt panted, not entirely clear on what he was asking, but Regis seemed to understand. Regis sucked Geralt’s bottom lip into his mouth and the next stroke broke him, his breathing growing ragged as Geralt felt him come. The feeling was enough to punch him over the edge, the whole evening weighing him down, and so they simply hung onto each other as Regis’ hand slowed down and his hips twitched.

Regis collapsed down next to him, and Geralt rolled over without thinking, reaching for him. He stilled for a second, not sure if the touch was welcome, but Regis was smiling again, already tugging him closer. They settled into an embrace, both catching their breath, sweat cooling.

Geralt buried his hand into Regis’ hair and pressed a kiss to his temple. Regis snuggled closer, his slight frame fitting nicely around Geralt. It felt good, to feel Regis relax against his body. It spoke of something that could grow into real trust, if they wanted it to.

“All good?” Geralt murmured. He kept stroking the damp curls, basking in the general feeling of happiness.

“More than good,” Regis said, pulling away enough to meet his eye. His hand came to cup Geralt’s cheek. “I fear I will tire you by repetition, but you keep surprising me.”

Geralt made a motion that might’ve been a shrug. “You haven’t given me any reason not to trust you.”

Regis shook his head and smiled fondly. “But not everyone would feel so at ease with a vampire.”

The word seemed to hang in the air between them, until Geralt pulled Regis into a kiss. It was softer than before, a gesture of comfort and something without a name.

“You’re just fine,” Geralt said when they settled back into the embrace. “Wanna do this again sometime?”

Regis lifted an eyebrow. “I think I could be persuaded. You did invite me in, after all.” He grinned when Geralt groaned. “You can’t honestly expect me to refrain from making all the horrible jokes I usually have to hold back.”

Geralt buried his head into a pillow. “That’s it, next time I won’t hold Ciri back. We’ll see who’s laughing after she’s through interrogating you,” he muttered. At the corner of his eye, he saw Regis’ surprise at the words, and how it settled into something between amusement and affection immediately after.

He drifted off there, warm and content, Regis breathing steady beside him.


End file.
